


More Than Words Can Say

by westminster



Category: Football RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i dont know much about football, i know a lot about fanfictions though, its all a little depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15292029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westminster/pseuds/westminster
Summary: Gareth doesn’t even think, or prepare, or decide on an approach to take, he just bursts in, eyes darting around the room.They finally rest on Harry, and immediately his heart drops. Because it’s not Harry - it’s a broken, empty vessel of the man. He’s sat on the side, a towel slung loosely around his hips, head in his hands. He sees the similarities between his face in the mirror and Harry’s face in front of him: the same creases, the same redness around the eyes, the same forlorn look of a crushed man.-What really happened after the England vs Croatia game.





	More Than Words Can Say

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Больше, чем можно выразить словами](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15340989) by [headless_mannequin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/headless_mannequin/pseuds/headless_mannequin)



> I'm not a huge fan of football, so I'm sorry for any mistakes or inconsistences within the actual football stuff. My friend got me into this and I wanted to write a little something for her. I hope you like it!

The  _drip drip_ of the showers echo throughout the corridor, making Gareth slow down as he reluctantly heads into the changing rooms. There's a full-length mirror hung on one of the walls and he blinks back tears as he realizes he doesn’t recognize the man looking back at him. The match seems to have aged him years, the stress highlighted in the creases along his forehead, cheeks and nose. Trying to get his heavy breathing under control, he wipes the space under his eyes. There’s only one thought that keeps him composed: _My boys can’t see me like this. It would crush them._  

The door to the changing rooms opens with a bang, and Gareth’s head quickly snaps up. And there’s Sterling, heading out, the look of defeat clear on his face. The corners of his mouth tug into a small smile when he sees his manager, and it fills Gareth with warmth. He smooths down the corners of his waistcoat and approaches Sterling, encasing him a firm hug. 

Gareth’s hugs are the stuff of legends. All the players agree and heck, even the players on the opposing side go in to hug him after matches because they’re that good. They express everything words can’t and Sterling knows this better then anyone. It’s why when Gareth goes to tell him how amazing they’ve done and how the team are everything he's ever wished for, Sterling cuts him off, staring him right in the eye and says, “I know.” It’s all that’s needed. Sterling clasps a hand on Gareth’s shoulder and rubs it affectionately.

“You took your time, mate. There’s only Harry left in there, he’s taking it pretty badly - I think he blames himself. Just make sure he knows we’re all behind him, right?” 

And the with, he left as quickly and as noisily as he entered. 

Gareth doesn’t even think, or prepare, or decide on an approach to take, he just bursts in, eyes darting around the room. 

They finally rest on Harry, and immediately his heart drops. Because it’s not Harry - it’s a broken, empty vessel of the man. He’s sat on the side, a towel slung loosely around his hips, head in his hands. He sees the similarities between the face in the mirror and Harry’s face in front of him: the same creases, the same redness around the eyes, the same forlorn look of a crushed man. 

Harry doesn’t acknowledge his presence, even when Gareth goes and sits next to him, snaking arm around his shoulder. 

It’s this little action that prompts big, salty tears to run down Harry’s face. No sound is made, but Harry turns to Gareth, burying his face in the crook of his neck. 

This is one thing Gareth knows how to handle. He knows he needs to rub small patterns on Harry’s back, run his fingers softly through the hair on the nape of his neck and lean his chin on Harry’s head. 

They stay there, exactly like that, for what seems like forever. In reality, it’s only five or ten minutes but to the men, time is irrelevant. What matters is this comfortable, domestic bubble they’ve created. The fact that they both finally feel okay. Not great, they won’t feel great for quiet a while. But it’s the first time since their crushing defeat that they’ve felt _just okay._

It’s Gareth who breaks the silence, bringing his mouth to Harry’s ear, his lips ghosting over it. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, voice faltering a little as he chokes back tears, “We’re all - the whole damn country - are so, so proud of you.”

Harry finally lifts his head up and _God, he looks terrible_ , and he shushes Gareth, just like Sterling did. However, Harry figures that it’s about time that the roles were reversed. 

“No. _I’m_  so proud of _you._ You are so fucking amazing - you don’t even know the half of it. The fact that we’re here right now, I can’t put it into words. I wouldn’t want this team to be lead by anyone else, you’re genuinely one of the greatest men I’ve ever met. I'd rather be with you at your worst than anybody else at their best. And- and for the first time in my life, I feel like everything’s ok, because I can take comfort in the simple knowledge that I know you.”

It might be the words that do it, or the fact that it’s always been him giving the motivational speech, or maybe it’s the fact that it’s Harry. Whatever it is, it makes his eyes sting and his heart thump. Every part of him _aches_ for Harry and he can feel himself blushing profusely.

In response, he clutches Harry’s cheeks and gives him a firm, chaste kiss on the lips. 

It shouldn’t affect him like it does. He’s kissed Harry like this before. He’s kissed most of the team like that. It’s just a kiss that represents his pride, their triumphs, his love for the team and for the game. 

Except this time. Now, it’s real and it’s there and suddenly they’re both way too aware of Harry's shirtlessness and the lack of space between the two. Harry fondly notices the smell of Gareth's cologne and the lines under his eyes caused by working too long and sleeping too little. Then there’s a moment where they’re both looking too hard into each other’s eyes and can feel the other man’s breathe on their lips. 

Anyone could walk in, anyone could see the inevitable.

Then they both realize. 

I don’t care. I want this.

Their mouths crash together like something out of a cheesy romantic film, but there's nothing staged about this kiss. It's raw and real and Harry presses his tongue a little deeper, their lips sliding in perfect alignment. They kissed with all the passion and heat that football has plagued them with, with all the desperation that their loss could muster. Encouraged by Harry's soft mewls, Gareth nips at his bottom lip, marvelling at the taste of vanilla and coffee. He moves to kiss a trail down Harry's neck and nibbles at the soft skin at his collarbone. Harry's hand roams to the buttons of Gareth's waistcoat, taking it off completely so he can slip his hands up his back. 

"I'm..." Harry found himself hating the fact that humans couldn't talk and kiss at the same time, settling for resting his forehead against Gareth's, "I'm still not sure this is real."

"Any way I can help with that?"

"Kiss me again."

**Author's Note:**

> follow me!  
> tumblr @mandelsonss  
> Instagram @trinassong  
> -  
> comments & kudos are greatly appreciated!


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